


Green Lips, Blue Kisses

by BakerKeen



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, First Kiss, M/M, Synesthesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 03:20:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5811730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BakerKeen/pseuds/BakerKeen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John comes home from work and finds Sherlock high and ... <em>tactile</em>. Fluff and angst ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Green Lips, Blue Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> The implications in TAB that Sherlock might have been using all along, or at least that he hasn't been able to maintain his sobriety long-term, have been in my head a lot. I miiiiiight explore this more in a longer fic, but for now, this little scene.

When John came home from work, he scanned immediately for his sleek, temperamental flatmate out of habit. Sherlock was stretched across the sofa with one well-muscled arm flung across his eyes, so John indulged in the rare opportunity to stare unnoticed. His long neck was stretched, t-shirt pulled up by his position to reveal several inches of pale belly, and pyjama bottoms were slung low, hip bones jutting out. His long fingers were resting at his bare belly, as though he'd been rubbing it.

"Stop staring and come all th'way in," Sherlock murmured with a loose, warm voice. 

_Damn._ John closed the door with a sigh, hanging up his coat and kicking off his shoes. "Thought you were asleep."

"Obviously," came the deep rumble. 

John furrowed his brow. This was not Sherlock's Mind Palace pose. He walked over, picked up Sherlock's feet, and sat. "So what's gotten into you, then?" 

Sherlock had bent his knees to make room for John and now he was slowly moving one foot across the leg of his corduroy trousers, lips parted in a breathless smile. 

"Sherlock?" 

"I can feel each little hair in the grain of these hideous trousers." He continued his slow caress of the fabric and let out a smiling, shaky breath. His foot switched directions and his head swayed dizzily on the armrest of the sofa. A quiet huff of a giggle bubbled up from his chest. 

John's stomach sank as the truth hit him. "Oh, Sherlock." 

Sherlock giggled. "Finally got there, have you? God, that took ages."

John frowned. "I've only been in the flat two minutes."

Sherlock giggled, rubbing his thumb over the pale skin of his belly and absently smiling, not seeming to have heard John. 

Sighing, John pulled him up to sit beside him and reached in his pocket. "For a controlled user, these lists seem to be coming in handy more and more often," he murmured as he checked Sherlock's pulse.

Sherlock finally opened his eyes, squinting against the light and looking slightly disoriented. He shot a half-hearted scowl at John. "You're ruining my buzz." He closed his eyes again, rubbing his fingertips slowly against the sensitive flesh at John's wrist.

John repressed a shiver at the intimate touch and started counting heartbeats again. Sherlock was stable, which was expected; he hadn't taken anything dangerous, really. He loosened his touch on Sherlock's wrist but held it loosely, letting Sherlock continue his slow caress. "What do you feel right now?"

Sherlock smiled and exhaled an almost-laugh. "It's like slow sex, how you draw it out to heighten the sensation? It's similar to that. I can zoom in on the sensation of rubbing my fingertips against your skin, feel every pore and get lost in how quickly or slowly they move across my skin." 

Sherlock moved his other hand to John's face. "Your stubble," he purred, rubbing his thumb down John's jaw. "It feels pink." 

"Pink?" 

"Mm, yes. It's happy stubble. Synesthesia," he said, as though it was self-evident. His thumb reached John's lower lip, tracing it slowly. "Your lips are green."

John wrinkled his nose. "Like mould?"

Sherlock laughed, tipping his head forward, "Mmm, no. More like fresh cut grass." He tipped forward more, brushing his lips lightly against John's jaw, tracing the path his thumb had taken. John held very still, trying to keep his breathing normal as Sherlock brushed his lips slowly over his. "Feels like Deep Heat," Sherlock whispered, brushing back and forth across his lips with a soft smile. 

John knew he should move, should stop this. Sherlock was lost in the sensory experience and he would be embarrassed tomorrow. But he had wanted it for so long that he found himself frozen in place. 

Sherlock held his head still, no longer brushing so much as caressing, moving his lips against John's in gentle little movements, as though exploring their texture. John stopped breathing. Then Sherlock tilted his head slightly, rubbing their noses for a moment before the closing his mouth around John's in what was unmistakably a kiss. John inhaled sharply, but kept his lips soft, pliant, matching Sherlock's gentle movements. Sherlock dipped his tongue just inside John's mouth, and John met him there, allowing soft slides of slick heat between softer presses of lips. 

After what felt like a very long time but was likely only a minute or two, John pulled away, pressing one last kiss to Sherlock's mouth before resting their foreheads together.

"Your kisses are blue," Sherlock murmured sadly. "Dark, like your eyes."

"Goddamn you," John said softly. "I won't ... not when you're ... you _knew_ ..." Sherlock was silent, waiting as John's brain tried to form a coherent sentence. "I fucking hate you for doing it like this."

Sherlock flinched, forcing his eyes open as he pulled away. He looked wrecked, eyes red, pupils rebounding against the light. "This is how I am," he said, sounding weary and defeated. 

"No," John protested. "You are much more than this. You're better than this."

Sherlock looked down at his elbows, at the scars there. "I'm not so sure," he murmured quietly. 

"I am," John said with more conviction than he truly felt. They sat in silence for a long moment, then John patted Sherlock's knee, pulled him to standing, and led him to his bed. Perhaps they would talk about it in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Deep Heat = Icy Hot
> 
> Don't forget to let me know what you think! :)


End file.
